The Rose and the Stag
by starsburnforit
Summary: Pre-ASoIaF, so no real spoilers. My take on how Renly and Loras's relationship began.
1. 1 Loras

**Loras**

Outside the ornate glass windows of the grand hall, an epic storm raged. Lightning seared through the sky, and the thunder that sounded would have rattled any lesser castle. Not Storm's End, though. Renly told him that Storm's End was actually the last and strongest of several castles that were built at the spot by the very first storm lord. All his attempts to build a holdfast had come to naught, as the gods of the sea sent storms to throw down the walls, until finally a castle was built that could withstand the gods' wrath. As the story goes, the gods were upset with the storm lord for wedding his daughter. All the best stories always came back to love, Loras knew.

Love.

Beside him, Renly shifted uncomfortably as he sat in the hall's high chair, listening to the petitions of the few who had dared to brave the storm. The lord shifted again, and his velvet doublet - a rich, earthy green today - rustled softly against the granite of the chair, between claps of thunder. What few of the Lord of Storm's End's subjects had made it to the hall were quite long-winded, making up for the lack of other petitioners. Loras largely ignored them, bored with their rustic bows and excessive "m'lord"s. He was glad he was not Mace Tyrell's first son, or even second, else he had a good chance of having to suffer through this tedium eventually. Loras loved the small folk, but when they were cheering him in a tourney, or as he rode through the streets - not when they were complaining about fires or stolen swine.

Renly felt the same way. Even though Loras was staring straight ahead, eyes scanning the people in the audience hall, he could just imagine his lord's face right now. Renly's thick jet black hair neatly groomed, mouth pleasantly upturned, with his startlingly blue eyes giving away all the boredom the rest of his face hid so well. Always pleasant, always patient, always kind to everyone, regardless of rank or status. Not just pleasant, but genuinely charming. Loras knew that the other squires and young knights called the Knight of Flowers arrogant (not to his face, of course), but he had never heard anyone even hint that Renly was less than wonderful. People even forgave Renly his tempers when he would fuss about the color of his new tunic, or how his breeches had an unseemly wrinkle.

Another stroke of lightning illuminated the hall, far brighter than the lights of the hundreds of candles that had been lit, breaking Loras from his train of thought, without a roll of thunder coming quick on it's heels. Loras could feel it reverberate deep within his chest.

"Look at this storm! Let us pray to the Seven that Storm's _End_ lives up to it's name! I shall resume audiences on the morrow," Renly said as he rose and moved deftly around the chair. He disappeared through the lord's door with Loras at his heels, as the castle guards moved to clear people from the hall.

"Well that was wonderfully boring, don't you agree?" Renly said cheerfully, taking the steps to his apartments two at a time. "It was, my lord," Loras said, watching Renly ascend. His boots were a supple black leather, inlaid with a pattern of gold vines, and his breeches were an impossibly dark green. The lord of Storm's End always took such painstaking care of his apparel. Loras was sure that he had to be the best dressed lord in all the Seven Kingdoms. Everything fit him just so, tailored to perfection that Loras hadn't known existed until he came to squire for Renly. The squiring clothes he had brought from Highgarden were fine and well made, but they had lacked the true elegance of even the most humble pieces of Renly's wardrobe. Renly stopped and turned, so suddenly that Loras almost ran into him. Almost.

"I really do hate it when you call me that," he said.

Loras sighed. He had forgotten. Hearing people call him "m'lord" for the last four hours had made Loras completely forget. "Well, you _are_ a lord. And you happen to be _my_ lord. I would think you'd be accustomed to it by now, seeing as how you've been lord of Storm's End for almost ten years."

"I shall have you whipped for being so insolent. You were supposed to beg my forgiveness and tell me that it would never happen again, you know," Renly said, though considering the grin spreading across his face, Loras knew the threat was empty. Plus, there were a hundred other insolences that Loras had committed that were far more worthy of whippings.

"Your empty threats do not scare me, _my __lord_. I am the gallant Knight of Flowers," Loras said, as the two resumed their ascent. He meant it as a joke, but when he heard himself say it, it came off much more arrogant than he had wanted. Renly just laughed.

The solar was warm when they entered, and Loras immediately went to pour Renly a glass of Arbor gold. There was a rich aged cheese on the table, with a basket of roasted chestnuts, a warm loaf of black bread, a dish of butter, and raspberry preserves that Loras's lady mother had sent from Highgarden. It had become a favorite of Renly's. He invited Loras to sit with an easy wave of his hand.

"So. What did you think of my subjects' complaints today?" Renly asked, as he set a slice of bread smeared with preserves in front of Loras. Though he asked playfully - like he did almost everything - there was a strange sadness in Renly's voice. "To be honest, I wasn't quite paying attention," Loras said, shrugging and smiling ruefully. Lightning struck outside again, for a moment casting the world in shades of black and white. Renly leaned back and turned to gaze at the storm, a grimace on his face. "To be honest, I was not paying much attention, either," he said.

Ordinarily, they would have laughed and joked about that, but the look on Renly's face was so serious. Loras didn't know what to say, to such a serious Renly. So instead, he started picking at the food on his plate and pouring himself a glass of wine. As Renly continued to gaze out the window, the storm outside somewhat lessened the silence in the solar. Eventually, though, Loras's curiosity got the better of him.

"Is there something you want to talk about, my l- Renly?" he said.

The storm lord turned. His eyes looked bluer and icier than usual, in the flashing light of the storm and flickering light of the candles. Loras felt a strange pressure start to build somewhere below his navel.

"_Your_ Renly? I think I quite like the sound of that," he said, his voice breaking into another laugh. With that laugh, Loras knew that whatever was bothering Renly, he had dismissed it already. Of course he didn't want to talk about it. Loras smiled and shrugged. "That's not fair, though," Renly said. "If I'm your Renly, the least you could do is be my Loras, yes?"

Loras felt his face going red. "Of course, I'm your sworn squire after all," he said.

"And a sorry one at that. My glass is empty," Renly said, giving said glass a small shake. "I think you are quite hopeless at squiring, Loras Tyrell." Loras scoffed. "A squire is supposed to help knights and lords don their armor for battles and tourneys, not pour wine. If you had occasion to _wear_ your armor more often, you would know that."

"Is this going to turn into another lecture on how I should train more, to prepare for all sorts of glorious victories at jousting and in melees like my beloved royal brother?"

Loras nodded, laughing. Renly may have been said to be the spitting image of a young Robert Baratheon, but a likeness was the only thing they shared. "Well, you don't have to be exactly like your brother. But he was undeniably skilled when it came to fighting."

Renly took a long draught from his glass of wine. "You know I do not enjoy the sight of blood, Loras." His squire knew this. At the last melee Renly had participated in, he had thrown up amidst the fighting because some lesser lordling had one of his eyes dangling out of its socket. King Robert had roared with laughter as his youngest brother was then taken at unawares and forced to yield. Loras was about to say something, when Renly held up a hand.

"I will hear no more of it," he said, and started in on his own slice of bread. As he dug the knife deep into the bowl filled with the chunky red raspberry preserves, Loras sniggered.

"What?" Renly said.

"Well, don't you think those preserves sort of resemble..."

Horrified, Renly looked down at them. A moment later, a cushion from one of the other chairs at the table came flying at Loras's head.

"The Others take you, Loras Tyrell! The _gallant _Knight of Flowers, famed only for his prowess at being insolent and upsetting his liege lord's appetite. You are hopeless."

"But in the best of ways," Loras said gazing at Renly, strangely carefree and happy. They held each other's gaze for a while, until Renly finally broke, collapsing back in his chair with a tired sigh, draining another glass of wine.

"I hate being a lord," Renly said.

"I know."

"Do you think everyone else knows?"

"No. But you're getting worse at hiding it."

Renly bit distractedly at the corner of his thumb nail. Lord Stannis had always hated when he did that, but Loras thought it endearing.

"It's not like I wanted this. I am a third son. Like you. This wasn't _supposed_ to happen. If it wasn't for Robert's rebellion, I could have lived out the rest of my days as an unlanded knight - without the prestige of being a high lord, yes, but still with all of the House's incomes and without the responsibilities. I envy you, Lor."

Loras noted the use of the nickname. Renly only used it when he was drunk. Or getting there.

"I could use a bit of a shave, don't' you think?" Renly said suddenly, running his hands along his jaw.

"I was going to mention it, but you would just have me whipped for being insolent or something or other," Loras said. He rose to get Renly's shaving kit. It was nearly dinner time, so he would have to be quick about it. Though he had been squiring for Renly for almost two years, he had only been shaving him for a couple of months when Renly decided to test the Knight of Flowers' skill with a razor instead of an axe. After Loras gave Renly the closest shave he had ever been given, Renly commanded that he do it regularly, and he had never even so much as nicked the lord of Storm's End.

Renly had taken off his doublet, vest, and cloak, and was down to a simple cotton tunic with laces. When Loras knelt to begin coating his jaw with foam, his nose was filled with the smell of Renly Baratheon. The first scent was obviously the wine, and the soft lilac smell of the shaving lather. Beneath that was the strange, wild scent from Myr that he liked to wear, and underneath that, the thick, heady, manly smell of his skin. Loras didn't realize he was leaning unnecessarily close to him.

"Lor, what are you doing?"

"I'm smelling you."

"Is my bouquet to your liking?"

"Very much so."

"Well, after you stop mooning over me like a maiden, that shave would be nice."

The blade make a whicking sound as it rode the angles of Renly's jaw. "I wasn't mooning over you. You just smelled good, is all," Loras said, sounding like a child who had just been scolded.

Renly was right about the shave, though, so Loras set to work. He could feel his pulse quicken as he laid one hand on the back of Renly's neck to steady him. He was uncomfortable with how comfortable Renly was with him, and he with Renly. The only person who could even come close to how intimate they were was his sister, Margaery. But even then, there was always the veil of sibling propriety between them. With Renly, though, he seemed to be able to say almost anything. Even before he started shaving him, they would sit up for hours in the solar just talking, or Renly would cheer him on at the training yard as he unhorsed knight after knight.

Loras was concentrating on shaving the corner of Renly's mouth. He was so close to the lord of Storm's End that he could practically taste the wine on his lips. He could feel Renly's eyes boring into his own, but he refused to look up. He was sure if he did, he would be too distracted and might accidentally cut Renly. With a sigh of relief, Loras pulled back, and dampened a cloth to pat down Renly's face. When he turned around and reached for Renly's face, Renly reached behind Loras and pulled him closer, pressing Loras against him.

If Loras looked into Renly's eyes, he knew he would never look away, so he focused on the laces of Renly's tunic. Beneath the laces, a dark shadow of chest hair was revealed. Loras swallowed hard.

"Renly, dinner should-"

"I thought you had a new honorific for me now," Renly said. His voice was thick - from the alcohol and something else that Loras was not ready to name. But he said it so wantonly that Loras couldn't help get aroused, and being so close to Renly, the lord of Storm's End was sure to feel it.

"Fine. _My Renly_, dinner should be served shortly," Loras said, fighting the blush blooming in his cheeks.

For a second, his eyes flicked up. Renly's intense blue ones were blazing in the flicker of the candlelight, wonderfully, impossibly blue. He was transfixed. He leaned forward, and he could feel Renly pressing him closer. Loras was at full mast, and felt the warmth of Renly's thigh against him.

Suddenly, Renly stood up, knocking Loras awkwardly to the floor.

"Loras Tyrell, what are you doing?"

Loras's mouth opened and closed. He didn't know what to say.

"It's time for dinner," Renly said, striding to one of his wardrobes and pulling on a variety of richly colored clothes. He was done extraordinarily quickly - he usually liked to languish in choosing what he wore - and walked to the door. So quickly that Loras was still trying to collect himself, when he paused and turned.

"Loras," Renly said, "take care of yourself and make your way down to dinner. You can seduce me some other night."

Loras nodded meekly.

Renly paused again. "And be quick about it. We're feasting the Florents tonight."

With a quick, easy smile, he was gone.

Face burning, Loras leaned back, put his face in his hands, and groaned.


	2. 2 Renly

**Renly**

The day was unbearably humid. Renly's loose jade-colored doublet slashed with pale blue satin stuck awkwardly to his chest. He had slung his cloth-of-gold cloak over the back of his seat ages ago like Robert had, and all of the high lords had followed suit. Propriety only went so far in weather hotter than R'Hllor.

Of course Renly had wanted an elaborate name day celebration, and of course the day he chose to have the tournament, it felt like all seven hells had been loosed on Storm's End. Though the enormous yellow-and-black striped tent his more noble guests sat under was thin and airy, and his servants pumped vigorously away holding large fans made of palmettos, a breeze could not be created, coaxed, or conjured to bring a bit of relief. The poor common folk had to endure the heat _and_ the sun glaring down on them, packed in shoulder to shoulder with their peers, so Renly supposed it could be worse.

He was quite pleased with how many people came. Even his brothers decided to grace him with their presence. Stannis was on his left, sitting stony eyed and looking hostile, with Lady Selyse, his goat of a wife. To Renly's right, Robert was partaking of the finest Arbor vintages and groping a particularly pretty serving wench, while his royal wife and children did their best to ignore him. Lords Tyrell, Lannister, Arryn, Baelish, and their families were present too, as well as a plethora of storm lords, lesser lordlings, and famed knights.

What amused Renly most, however, was that each lord seemed to bring a gaggle of his daughters. He smirked to himself as he watched the knights and squires assemble in the yard for the melee. Every time he said something amusing, the maids erupted into laughter, as if they had never heard a joke before. And during the archery contest earlier in the day, he was quite sure more female eyes had been on him than on any of the contestants. No doubt they were all imagining themselves as his lady wife and bearing his children who would become the great lord of Storm's End. Renly rolled his eyes. He had assembled the best warriors and knights in the seven kingdoms and all his prospective wives wanted to do was stare at him or try to curry his favor. He grimaced at the thought of dancing with them at the feast later.

Once the combatants were in place, Renly stood up and gave the signal. The clash of steel on steel was thunderous, along with each man's respective battle cry. Renly did not like the melee. He much preferred the jousting, which would be held on the morrow.

The crowd "ahhh"ed as Thoros of Myr's flaming sword came crashing down on Ser Barristan's white shield, and they began to parry each other's attacks. While most of the focus was on them, Renly scanned the roiling mass of steel and fury to pick out his squire.

Loras's armor was beautiful. When it had been delivered from King's Landing, Loras had made sure Renly was the first to see him in it. Renly smiled at the memory. Inlaid with hundreds of flowers, it was really exquisite, and complimented Loras and his fighting style in every way. Even now it glinted dreamily in the sun, as Loras smashed his morningstar into helms and hauberks.

The boy had tried his best to avoid Renly for weeks after they had almost kissed. In Renly's opinion, he had done quite well avoiding him, considering Loras had a room in Renly's own apartment, as his squiring duties required.

Renly understood why, though. The look on Loras's face after Renly had stood up and knocked him down haunted the lord of Storm's End every time he looked at the boy. His soft blue eyes, full of pain and confusion, with a handful of lazy brown curls strewn across his forehead. But most of all, Renly could not forget the heartbreaking way the corners of Loras's mouth had downturned in his rejection. _Of __course_ Loras was mad at him. If it had been Renly, he would be mad, too.

Saddened at the thought, Renly turned to make conversation with Stannis. Big mistake. Even as Stannis watched the melee, he lectured Renly on the various duties of being master of ships at King's Landing. After Renly made a joke about other kinds of masts, Stannis grinded his teeth and lapsed into silence. At least Robert and Renly's prospective brides laughed.

Renly was about to say something to Robert about the wine, but a roar came from the melee. Loras had taken a warhammer to the shoulder by some bannerman of Lord Tyrell's, who stood above the boy apologizing profusely amidst the flurry of weapons. Renly's squire was picked up on a litter and carried to one of the healer's tents.

"I had best go check on the boy. Wouldn't want his arm rendered useless. I might have to pour my _own_ wine," he said, departing. People around him laughed merrily at that, but had they taken a look at Renly's face, they could have seen how uncharacteristically pale he was.

Renly liked Loras - far above and beyond what a master should feel for his squire. He had never felt that way about anyone, not even the few women he had had relations with. Loras was _good_ - sometimes silly, cocky, and insolent, but good nonetheless. And honest. That was what Renly liked best about Loras. So few people around Renly were honest. They either wanted something from him, or tried to gain his favor because they wanted something from his brother, King Robert.

Loras _had_ everything, though - famed skill with a blade, a prestigious family, disgusting amounts of gold, and to top it all off, he was divinely good looking. He already had what Renly could ever give him, and much more. They were equals in each other's eyes, if not necessarily in title and rank. That, combined with both of their tendencies to laugh and jape, made for an interesting relationship.

Renly always joked about how terrible a squire Loras was, but there was an inkling of truth to it. No squire should be half as familiar with his master as Loras was with Renly. Renly had seen other squires, dutiful and silent unless spoken to or commanded to speak, clad in the livery of their house, without a lick of humor about them. He was glad that Loras was the way he was, and as the year and then the next had passed, he realized that the only joy he found in being a lord was having Loras as a squire. Pompous Mace Tyrell would never have let his son (even a third son) squire for some lesser lord. Fourth in line for the throne and liege lord of the storm lands, it appealed to Mace's vanity to let his son squire for Renly - even though Renly was not a famed warrior, which he very quickly learned Loras would have much preferred in the knight he squired for. Renly smiled at the thought. Such _insolence_. Other lords would have had Loras chastised, but Renly loved every bit of it.

Renly knew his feelings were dangerous - and Loras's too, if what happened on that stormy night was sincere, and not the wine getting the best of the squire. In all seven kingdoms, that sort of thing was looked down upon. An _abomination_, the septons said. It could cost Renly his lordship, Storm's End, and even his life, if the right people found out. He did not want to think about what might become of Loras if either of them should act on their feelings and someone found out.

Inside the healer's tent, it was hotter than a sauna. Loras was inside, stripped down to his breeches, with an ugly purple bruise blooming on his left shoulder. Maesters and novices hovered around the boy, preparing poultices and salves. They all bowed courteously when they saw Renly, and went on about their work.

"How is Ser Loras doing?" Renly said to the nearest maester.

"The boy is young and strong, my lord. He is just white from the shock and pain. His collar bone has been broken, but we will set it easily enough, provide poultices for the bruising, and milk of the poppy for the pain."

Renly nodded and grinned. "So my squire will live another day to pour me a glass of wine?"

The maester smiled warmly. He was a crinkled little man, with wisps of white hair sticking up from his mostly bald head. He reminded Renly strongly of an egg.

"Indeed, my lord. Ser Loras will heal well, and be back in fighting condition within a matter of weeks."

"It was merely a nick, my lord, nothing more," Loras said stiffly from the back of the tent. He sat in a padded chair, with a mixture of embarrassment and defiance on his gentle features. Though Renly spoke to the maester, he never removed his eyes from Loras. The boy held his gaze, until a novice began applying a salve to his bruise, and he winced.

"After you are done, good maester, I would like a word with my squire in private," Renly said.

"If it please you, Lord Renly. I am here to serve."

Once the maester and healers took their leave to tend to other knights, Renly turned to Loras.

"Are you alright?" Renly said.

Loras rolled his eyes. "I said so, didn't I? I'm not a child, my lord." The boy stood up and reached for his supple leather jerkin. Renly stayed his hand.

"We need to talk," he said.

Loras bowed. "As you wish, my lord."

Renly felt frustration rising in the back of his throat. "I am serious, Loras," he said, "You cannot avoid me forever."

His squire's face was a cold porcelain mask. "Whatever pleases you, my lord."

Loras pulled his jerkin out of Renly's hand, not ungently, and slipped it on. His arms were bare, and Renly wondered how such slender things could produce such power in the training yard. They looked surprisingly soft. Renly reached out and ran a thumb along the smooth skin of Loras's upper arm, and felt the soft golden hair rising.

Loras's reaction was instantaneous. For a moment, he stood as still as if he were made of stone, watching Renly's finger. The next moment, they were both struggling with one another, Renly laughing and Loras cursing. Much to his amusement, Renly could not tell if the boy was trying to get away or press himself closer. Maybe it was a bit of both.

"Loras Tyrell, I command you to _stop_!" Renly said, still laughing. As always, Loras was hopeless at being a boring, dutiful squire. With an awkward shove, Loras's foot caught on a leg of the chair he had been sitting on, and the two came crashing down.

"Ow," Loras said, more surprised than pained. He rearranged the poultice on his shoulder as he sat on the packed earth. Though Renly could tell he was trying to hide it, Loras was grinning. So was Renly.

"Are you going to quit with this formal, boring, 'my lord' business?" Renly said, picking himself up and dusting his breeches off. He offered a hand to Loras, who readily took it. There was an odd look on his squire's face.

"But Renly, that night -"

"I am so sorry for pushing you away, Loras."

"Yeah, well, but-"

"Loras, I love you."

Renly could hear his heart beating in his ears. He had thought of a thousand other things he could have said, but he figured that would be the easiest, quickest, and most honest way to start the conversation. He hoped he was not wrong.

He carefully studied Loras's face, and the wave of emotions that crossed over it. Renly could name some, like shock, confusion, validation?, but others eluded even his social graces.

It felt like centuries, waiting for Loras to respond, every second torture and anxiety. Finally, he took Renly's hand, and spoke.

"Will you push me away this time?"

Relief and shock flooded Renly like cold water.

"No. Never again, Lor-"

His lips were chapped and salty still, from the heat and rigor of the melee, but Renly didn't mind. The kiss was sweet, and chaste, and fumbly, making Renly recall how young and inexperienced Loras was, but that just made him fall into it with gusto. As they parted, Renly suddenly wondered if that was Loras's first kiss.

First kiss or no, Loras was flushed and grinning mischievously.

"Well, maybe I should get hurt more often if that's the sort of reward I get, don't you think?"

Renly laughed. "If you think that was pleasant, just imagine what you might get for a lance to the ribs."

Loras's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red in response.

"Would you like to sit in the tent and watch the rest of the melee with me? I hope Thoros of Myr's sword is still on fire," Renly said. Loras gathered up his things and walked with Renly.

"That old sot's flaming sword is so distracting. Did you see when it caught Ser Axell Florent's helm's plume on fire? And then Ser Barristan..."

He smiled and listened attentively as Loras went on about the details of the melee. Renly was certain that it had been his best name day celebration after all.


	3. 3 Loras

**A****/****N****: ****Sorry****for****taking****so****long****to****update****! ****The****quality****of****this****chapter****is****a****little****off****, ****but****I****'****ll****have****another****chapter****up****pretty****soon****!**

**Loras**

Loras had never been to such a splendid feast, and he was certain that more than a few others in the room had never, either.

There were going to be nineteen courses for the feast - one for every year Renly had been alive. The great hall of Storm's End was packed with a hundred guests, servants, and cupbearers, along with silk-clad dancers, singers, a band, and an elephant jingling the gold medallions along its back. The walls were draped in a riot of colored silks, so that the tapestries and the bricks behind them could no longer be seen. The columns of the hall were covered from base to pinnacle with huge flowers in a variety of colors that Loras couldn't even name. The scent of eastern spices filled the air, and a thousand golden candles lit the room, dripping wax that looked like molten gold on imported wooden candlesticks. Servants stood along the tables at intervals, fanning the guests with enormous palmetto leaves, cooling the room. The overall effect was one of sitting in some exotic pleasure tent from the east - maybe in Asshai, or New Ghis, or Yunkai.

Down the high table, Loras could see Renly beaming and talking to his guests. He had changed out of his clothes from earlier in the day, and had donned a magnificent doublet of some strange green material. One moment it was a translucent moss green, and then Renly would move, and it would become a color as deep and bright as grass. The trim was done in cloth of gold, embroidered with emeralds into the shapes of leaves. His long cloth-of-gold cloak was pinned to one shoulder with a large stag's head made of onyx.

In the smoky light of the hall, he was radiant. As the rules of hospitality dictated, King Robert sat next to him, and the difference in their demeanor couldn't be more jarring. Renly was as much of a king as Robert was not. While Robert was feeling up some wench and making lewd comments about "the royal member," Renly was laughing and joking and beaming, talking to his guests and arranging hunting parties and visits to the holdfasts of his lords bannermen.

Loras wished he was sitting closer. He was separated from Renly by King Robert, Queen Cersei, Loras's mother and father, his brother Garlan, and his wife. His shoulder was throbbing, and the doublet he had put on felt awkward against the bandages wrapped around his shoulder. Loras wasn't one to drink, but considering all that had happened that day - in the healers' tent with Renly, in the melee - he came to the conclusion that he deserved a bit of fun. Especially with the finest vintages from the Arbor being poured fast and freely all around him. And _especially_ on Renly's name day.

After his second cup of wine, Loras found himself in a heated discussion with Ser Beric Dondarrion regarding who was the greatest knight in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Loras was for Brynden Tully, while Dondarrion favored Barristan Selmy. Loras had previously thought the same, but that morning he had met Tully while gearing up for the melee. Tully, called the Blackfish, was representing the Vale of Arryn in the tournament, and he was everything Loras imagined a knight should be.

Aside from good company (and getting better with every glass of wine), the food took Loras's breath away - sometimes literally. There was a dish of sausages and mushrooms cooked with fiery Dornish peppers that made Loras's eyes water and his stomach burn. Renly sent that dish to Ser Cortnay Penrose. The next, he sent to Loras's father. It was capon glazed with fine Volantene mustard, after which came fresh greens from the Reach sprinkled with Meerenese olive oil, and rich cream soups of potato and pease and carrots that was sent to a lesser storm lord that Renly was particularly fond of.

The largest salmon Loras had ever seen was served on a huge platter that had to be carried by four servants, drowned in a lemon butter sauce. That dish had gone to Lord Stannis, who didn't look so hostile for once. Of course there was venison in a thick brown gravy, as the stag graced the crest of House Baratheon, but there was roast boar, too, and hearty beef ribs.

Half way through the meal, King Robert stood up and banged his goblet on the table. "Quiet, all you, your king is speaking!" he said in his customary roar. Silence swallowed the hall.

"Now, my little brother has been a man grown, and has done a good job being Lord of Storm's End, so I've decided on naming Renly Baratheon the Master of Laws, to sit in the small council!" A roar of applause went up from the guests. Loras craned forward to see Renly's reaction.

He seemed genuinely surprised. And from what Loras had heard the past couple of weeks as Renly's squire, nothing was said about the appointment. The lords around Renly were shaking his hand and patting him on the back, as his own face was a tumult of confusion and uncertainty. After a moment, his usual graceful smile was back in place, even though it didn't quite reach his eyes. Renly started to look around, and then Loras caught his eye. His lord gave a rueful smile and an almost imperceptible shrug. He would have to move his household to King's Landing to sit on the small council.

The rest of the feast passed in a blur. One of the dancers ended up coaxing Loras out onto the dance floor at Renly's behest ("My young squire may sit a horse well enough, but he has two left feet when it comes to dancing. If you ladies would be so kind to correct that and give him a lesson or two?"). Loras was actually a very good dancer, and he even managed to do all the steps of the strange eastern dance well enough for applause, even as the scantily clad dancer tried to distract him by grinding her hips on his. Other knights and sons of lords were called out to join him, and they didn't do as well. Regardless, everyone was having a fantastic time. Even the grumpiest old lords had wide smiles on their faces. And such as was a staple of all Baratheon gatherings, the wine flowed fast and rich and deep in the cup of every attendee.

It was near dawn by the time Loras was called to help Renly stumble up the flight of stairs to his apartments. Renly wrapped one arm around Loras, and used the other to gesture wildly when he spoke.

"Did you get a chance to pet the elephant? Nicest creatures ever, by the gods," Renly said, slurring so badly that Loras's laugh rang off the smooth stone of the stairs.

"How many glasses of wine did you have?" Loras said.

He felt Renly shrug. "A couple of flagons, methinks. I am a Baratheon after all, yeah? For a while I was going glass to glass with Robert but -" The last part of the sentence was incoherent as Renly ran a hand down his face.

"Did you hear about my appointment?" Renly said. Loras nodded.

"We are going to have to go to King's Landing."

Loras stopped. "We? You want me to go with you?"

Now it was Renly's turn for his laugh to fill the stairwell. "Of course, beautiful Ser Loras. You are my squire." The last couple of steps to Renly's chambers were difficult, since he kept trying to run his hands through Loras's hair instead of climbing.

Once in his chambers, Loras lowered him onto the bed. The servants were called, and they started undressing Renly then and there, to Loras's embarrassment. He was about to slip out the door when Renly's voice called him back.

"Loras, stay here. I need you to write a letter for me. I cannot do it because I am drunk. It is also fairly dark in here, so you may need to light a candle."

Loras snorted. "Why do you have to do it now, though?"

"Stop being so insolent and just do as I command, Lor. Loras. Ser Loras."

The servants eventually scuttled away, leaving the Lord of Storm's End tucked crisply under thick green velvet sheets. Loras sat in a chair near the bedside and grabbed a quill, inkstone, and parchment.

"What do you need me to write?"

Renly was quiet for so long that Loras thought he was asleep, until he spoke suddenly.

"A song. Write me a song. About me. And you."

"I thought you said you wanted me to write a letter?"

"And send it to yourself when you are finished?"

Loras put the writing tools away, pouting. He was a knight, not a minstrel. "I'm going to bed Renly. You should, too. It's almost dawn."

"Will you sit beside me until I fall asleep?"

In a matter of moments, Loras heard Renly's soft, rhythmic breathing, signalling he had finally fallen asleep. Outside the window, the sun was peeking over the horizon, tinting the dark stones of Storm's End a brilliant scarlet. Loras headed back to his bed, yawning.

"Ser Loras, wake up!"

The quick reflexes he had practiced in the training yard caused Loras to get hopelessly tangled in the satin sheets of his bed. He had had a fitful sleep (especially after all the wine, coupled with the drunken episode besides Renly's bed). To be quite honest, he didn't hold his alcohol very well. The Tyrells were, blessedly, not gifted with the Baratheon resistance to alcohol. Loras was sure that he would have drunk himself blind if he had decided to go cup to cup with Renly, or even worse, Robert.

"What do you want?" Loras said. The page flinched at the bite in his words.

"M'Lord Renly asks that you attend him at the tournament grounds, Ser Loras."

_Tournament__grounds__? __What__time__was__it__?_ Loras thought. He tumbled out of bed and threw back the curtains.

Big mistake.

His head seared in pain as the room filled with the blazing light of the afternoon sun, and he violently turned back towards the bed.

"Tell Lord Renly I will be with him momentarily," Loras said through gritted teeth, head buried in one of the bed's quilts.

"M'Lord Renly also requested you wear the blue doublet today."

What an odd request. "Why would he ask that?" Loras said, attempting to get ready without having to open his eyes too much. His head was throbbing.

"I don't see it fit to question m'lord, ser."

Of course he didn't. Loras ordered the page to send up some toast and juice, then dismissed him with a flick of his wrist. He scrubbed his face and all the necessary bits, donned his clothing, and was hurrying down the stairs in a few minutes, buckling on his swordbelt as he descended. The servant with his breakfast met him as he was striding through the inner foyer, and he shoveled the food down as he made his way to the tournament grounds.

Everyone was there already. Save the ridiculous Tyrell squire who couldn't hold his ale, Loras thought wryly. A tilt was just commencing as Loras made his way onto the dais where the honored guests were sitting. He tried to quietly take his place near Renly, but Renly Baratheon was having none of that.

"Here he is! The best dancer in Storm's End!" Renly said. Everyone's eyes turned towards Loras. "And the most handsome," a highborn maiden said, beside whom he presumed (hoped) to be her father. Loras nodded courteously, unsure of what to make of all the attention.

"Aye!" King Robert boomed. "Your boy is prettier than any lass here, Renly."

Loras nodded courteously, but he could feel a flush creeping up his neck as everyone tittered at the king's joke - though none louder than the king himself. It was well known that the Baratheons had no particular love for House Tyrell, as Loras's father had held their ancestral home under siege for more than a year on the side of loyalist forces, during Robert's Rebellion. Loras's status as squire to Renly was supposed to have allayed some of that anger, but everyone knew that nothing short of a royal marriage would have sufficed to heal that sting.

Everyone's attention turned back to the tournament soon enough, leaving Loras to collect his thoughts.


End file.
